The Innocence
by me38242
Summary: They don't know what theyre doing, but fall in and out of habit like waves crashing on the sides of their ship. Zutara, young, teenagers growing up on a ship. M.
1. Feeling Lost

**The Innocence: Chapter I  
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><p>His eyes were closed as she bounced ontop of him.<p>

Slowly.. slowly.. the humour fell out as quietness consumed all around them

As they realized... it _felt _like something different.

The ghost of his hands whispered over the back of her hips, following her movements.

The moment of laughter simmered away as they continued

Both realizing that there was.. something _more_ behind this.

It was no longer about making playing a game

It was.. it was..

_sensational_.

She sense that something different was coming over him—it was coming over her too.

She continued bouncing on top of his lap, a steady slow rhythm that was predictable

He didn't stop her as she did so on top of their clothes.

He was speechless, his eyes glazed over.

"I—" her voice was an octave higher as she spoke a little while later. "I—um—It's 9. I think I should go now," she said after a while.

The thirteen-year-old boy didn't know what she was saying.

"Um—" his voice cracked as he addressed the girl. "Um—yes—sure."

Somehow, her face flushing red for a reason she didn't quite know, she left the young Prince's room, the door closing gently behind her.

_What _was_ that_? The two young teens had simultaneously asked once alone.

He.. he had liked—her bouncing on top of his lap. It had been..

She hadn't been sure with what had been going on at the time. All she knew was that the Prince's breath had stilled and suddenly that moment had become... something more intense. Important.

No longer about joking and fooling around.

Serious.

And so they had quietly continued, because he hadn't been compelled to tell her anything. And somehow.. she had known that the moment had been.. _significant... _for him. Both of them.

It had become.. something drastically _different_. And the twelve-year-old girl named Katara wasn't sure what that was.

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><p>They had developed a slow routine.<p>

She would come into his room, as she normally did each night.

To talk about his day, her day, how things went.

And then, slowly, they would fall into that same slow routine.

The first day it had begun, that first night after the first time... silence had overcome them in a settled way. Heralded by Zuko's pertinacious glare at the wooden floors of his private cabin.

Katara had been slightly interested in the fact that he hadn't brought up or mentioned the last night with her at all the next day.

But then, suddenly, amongst the silences in the air Zuko looked away for a moment.

"Katara," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "c-could you... do what you did yesterday.." He trailed off, refusing to look her directly in the eyes. "Again, today?" he asked, his voice sounding timid and.. apprehensive and.. doubtful.

He was _nervous_. She stared at him blankly, sitting on the edge of his bed while he was in the chair in front of his desk. The look on his face was something she hadn't seen in the prince except in the most vulnerable of his moments.

So she got up off the bed and walked over to his lap. And sat down on it.

She stood over him for a second before she sat down with the back of her knees touching the front of his, before she settled into their slow, smooth routine. Gently bouncing on top of their thick, fire nation clothes.

The slightly scared, apprehensive look that would come over him each and every night.. was slowly overcome by deep breaths and hesitant hovering hands as six months passed by. As the two, both, grew older.

As the boy slowly overcome by revelry and.. desire.. and _attention_ to the young waterbending girl who had the power to rise certain feelings up within him.

By the time she was fourteen and he was sixteen, it had turned into a slow, breathy routine, during which he would place sloppy, wet, moppy open-mouthed kisses over the back of her spine, her neck, and shoulders as she ran her buttocks over his deeply-risen cloth-covered groin.

He would groan deeply, just... just feeling _her_. _This._ _Katara_. _Her_.

All the thoughts that possibly went through his brain as she did so were those.

It had become a routine since he was 13. And at first it had been nothing. But as they had gotten older, it had turned into something different. Once a bit older, mature, did he truly see the desire that she made him succumb to.

He would lean back in the chair as she would approach him in the night after their customary talks, a small yet nondescript predatory look in his eye until she would come over and start bouncing on top of his lap, his hands placed obstinately away from her and instead gripping the armrests of his chair tightly.

It was something they did not mention in real life—in their daily proceedings, they had never mentioned in front of one another, since they were 12 and 13.

And then there came that one night, when he was flush fourteen, that Zuko caught her hips and brought them down onto his lap, grinding up into her instead of letting her push down.

To let her _feel_ him.

And then came that night, in the back of an earth kingdom tavern in which they were hiding out from Zhao. Katara nestled heavily between his chests and knees in the back of a storage closet that the storeowner had let them hide in.. Katara's back lying heavily on his chest, just leaning against him. And.. and he liked this feeling.

They were still and quiet, the atmosphere was tense and fearful, but all he could notice was the fact that he liked it.

She wasn't moving, but he liked it.

And thats when it grew into something more.

Her sitting on top of him when they _did_ it.. dependent on him—_his _chest. He realized that he liked it for a multitude of reasons _other_ than just what she did on his lap.

Unbeknownst to her, that was the reason that he relaxed and just wanted her to lean against his chest the following night, just sitting quietly ontop of him on his desk chair... before they started moving.

That he had liked the feeling of just having her _so_ close.. Dependant on him. Clutched to him.

At first, he dressed in all sorts of cloths, just to feel the different sensations she could make him run through while moving and bouncing from on top of them.

Iroh didn't know. He wouldn't have to. This was something that was just between the two of _them_. At night. They never spoke about it in public.

He tested out with harsh itchy fabrics, smooth cool silks, light breathy sweats—the latter was what had given him the _most_ scare, the intensity with which he could feel her directly on _top_ of him. He decided soon after, to never wear that pair again.

Instead, he settled with a regular pair of rough-textured pants. Ones that would frighten her the least with his erection, and would provide him the muted friction that would make sure he kept his boundaries in check, yet still allow him to _feel_ something sensational against his flesh.

On nights on which he was passionate, he would grace the back of her neck and collarbones with sweeps and gentle lips mopping across the back of her shoulders.

On nights he was desperate, he would struggle not to hurry or push her hips against his, keep his hovering hands achingly whisping over her hips and simply hunch over her elevated back, press his nose and the sides of his face tiredly and urgently against the nape of her neck, desperate to have _more _of her.

There were nights during which he would simply and gently lean up to her neck and brush the hair off one side of her shoulder to the other, and simply lovingly watch her bouncing up and down on his lap, place a single kiss on the back of her neck, chastely, gently.

Those were her favorite nights.

By the time she was thirteen, Katara figured out that their innocent little game had involved into something more.. Something _deep_ and _much more_. She had figured out that he was in the process of becoming a man and _that_ was why he liked it so much. _That_ was why his glances towards her during the day had changed.

Half the time, he refused to look her directly in the eye anymore. The other half, she would find him staring at her at the most odd moments, only to see him jerk his gaze away at the last minute.

It was on a night that Zuko had settled into different sweats and forgone his heavy black fire nation army pants... that she felt him prominently.

That was when she became hyper-senstivie of the deep breaths that sounded from the boy behind her, the dark groans that a boy in need sounded out behind her. The significance of the hesitant hands that hovered over her hips, aching to pull her closer, guide her, yet decidedly keeping an obstinate distance in order to keep from doing so.

And somehow, the sick, convoluted pleasure she'd placed in knowing how much he respected her in that way. That the hovering hands would never center over her—that this whole ordeal was under _her_ own control.

The hesitancy of his hands over her hips, too nervous and timid to give succinct direction.. Instead just ghosting over her hips in agony and following the gyration and movements of her practiced hips—two years of doing this. She felt pleasure in being in control. She had no plans to relinquish it. She enjoyed being in a position of power.

When she'd glance a peek at the back of her neck and find him entranced, his eyes utterly distracted and erratic and glazed over when she was 12 and he was still 13.. Somehow, she'd been dumbfounded by it. Enjoyed the notion. And thats why she didn't mind doing it more.

Somehow, when his hand slowly slid over her neck one night and he'd began kissing her.. that one night when she was 13 and he was 14, she had felt... treasured.

Their daily night routines had transformed into something completely different as they grew older though, even more different from silent chaste kisses.

To the night where he was fifteen and gasping and panting—_Katara, m-more.._

_Kata—just.. a little bit... faster_.. _pl—please... ugh. _

Till the night until Iroh had opened the door and walked in on them, his eyes wide and shocked until he had angrily ushered the girl out of the room and rounded down upon nephew, who was still blankly sitting on the desk chair he always had.

"Prince Zuko! What in the world were you doing?" Anger tinged the old general's voice.

Uncle Iroh stared at him, shocked and scandalized, as the young boy had remained sitting in the chair that they had had their daily routine on for the past two-three years.

"Uncle Iroh..." he had repeated, surprised, suddenly feeling the blank lack of the warm behind on his lap anymore. "What are you doing here?"

His Uncle's eyes, the fierce dragon of the West, had blazed with a sudden fire.

"WHAT am I doing here, Prince Zuko? _WHAT am I doing here?_" he repeated, angry, staring at the young boy he had taken under his wing, "What were _you_ doing here? What were _you_ doing to Miss Katara?"

He had never seen his Uncle emblazened with so much anger.

"Nothing," he replied genuinely, surprised. _Nothing!_ _We were doing nothing!_

_We were just.. we were just.. What _were_ we doing?_ he wondered.

They had never questioned what they ever did at night. There was no name for it. No distinction.

It was just something they knew felt good.

Always had.

Always did.

In the years, the intensity had increased, but the questioning behind it had not. If anything, it had slowly ebbed away into mundane ordeal.

The silence wore on between the two as Zuko stared back at his old Uncle's questioning, Iroh speechless with wondering surprise and astonishment. After one more silence, his old Uncle turned his head to the side and pinched the bridge of his nose, not looking in his nephew's way. His nephew.. had _been_..?

"Prince Zuko, you and Miss Katara have been having sex," his Uncle stated, in disbelief. "For how long?" The old man wondered how this could have possibly slipped past him. How he could have possibly allowed the boy he considered a _son_ to disgrace him.

Had he _forced_ the young girl into these actions?

Zuko gaped at his uncle before stuttering unintelligibly at him. His mouth had dropped to the floor.

_S-sex?_

"W-What!" he voiced finally, his gold eyes still wide in incomprehensible shock at his Uncle's words, "_I HAVEN'T BEEN HAVING _SEX_ WITH HER!_" he vehemently denied to the old man.

His uncle turned his head sharply back at him.

"Then what _have_ you been doing, nephew?" he asked suddenly, his voice beholding a latent rage. He had had confidence in his nephew, but now he was suddenly unsure of his capabilities of enforcing power over the boy in regards to girls during his blossoming age of youth and need.

He was disgusted by the boy right now. By the thoughts that turbulently spun in his head about.._ might-have_ and _what-ifs_.

Zuko looked away, stared at the sully wooden floors on the bottom of his floor. _What _had _he been doing though?_

"I—I don't know," he let out hesitantly after a moment. His uncle frowned. Where had his nephew gone wrong that he couldn't say what was going on?

"Zuko," he directed once again, "How long has this been going on?"

All of a sudden, the young prince felt timid. Unsure of himself. What _had_ he and Katara been doing these past few years? By now it had seemed so normal.. routine.. Their daily routine. Sure, recently, their daily ritual had gotten a lot more... intensified, more.. _special _to him_.. _but... in essence, it had remained the same.

Nothing bad. Innocent.

"I—I don't know. We—we just.." Zuko looked away. Somehow felt that it would be wrong to say that it had been going on since they were thirteen.

His uncle had seemed so angry upon walking in on them.. that he hadn't the will to admit that it had been going on for so long that it was normal.

Apparently what they had been doing was something to be _frowned_ upon.

His uncle's mouth was down turned in disapproval at the lack of adequate response coming from his nephew. His nephew did not know what he was talking about. That made it all the more important to find out the logistics of things.

"Prince Zuko," he commanded at the young conflicted boy, who was still sitting in his chair and looking away at the floor, avoiding eye contact with his guardian. "I must know whether or not you have engaged in intercourse with the girl."

Zuko did not respond to the question. He was not sure of anything anymore, but his mouth was gaping at the question.

"Zuko," his Uncle directed, growing angrier, "Have you or have you not had sex with the girl? Have you ejaculated into her womb?"

Zuko looked up suddenly in shock at his uncle. _That _was something he was sure about.

"NO! No... its always.. we've only... always... it's been through clothing," he denied vehemently.

Zuko had never even _thought_ of ejaculating in front of her.. The simple, mere thought made his face turn a fierce red.

His Uncle sighed a heavy breath, one of sudden relief. So it had only been dry. But how long had it been going on? How long had they been doing this?

He cast his nephew, who he saw as his own son, a long sidelong dissapointed glance. The boy was oblivious.

He hadn't been realizing that he'd been having sex with this girl. That even though it was through cloth, it was still a form of sexual interrelation.

"Zuko," he whispered finally, not looking at him, "you must never do so. You must never find yourself in a situation where you might accidentally ejaculate into her womb."

_What would happen to the poor girl if she accidentally found herself pregnant? Unknowingly, unbeknownst to her, she had been engaging in intercourse with the young prince. _What if she had unwittingly found herself pregnant if Iroh had not incidentally walked upon this moment? What if Zuko had accidentally allowed this to escalate even further?

They did not know what they had been doing.

Perhaps Prince Zuko had known, but he hadn't let this information privy.

The young Prince looked down and away from the General. Ashamed. His face was red.

_He.. he had been having sex_ _with Katara since they were thirteen?_

His pants ached and he felt the desire and hormonal need come back to him.

As the door shut soundly behind his disappointed and uncharacteristically stoic Uncle, Zuko dropped his head.

Was what they had been doing _really_ that bad?

He wondered what Katara felt about this. Whether or not she was aware of how far this had escalated.

He should've figured it out sooner. Understood sooner that.. her _rubbing_ against his arousals... was not something normal.

Or orthodox.

But it was something he had enjoyed _vastly_.

His heart stammered insistently into the crevices of his chest. What they had been dong was wrong.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Any ideas? Comments? Desire for any continuation?  
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**Please review if you'd like continuation/ more AU realities like this.**

**:)  
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	2. The Repercussions

**The Innocence****: Chapter II**

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><p>He closes his eyes and suppresses the urge to shudder—to hum a little bit. He lies beside her.<p>

His fingers are probing, digging into her—this girl whom he shouldn't be touching. His Uncle had forbid him.

But Katara, _his _Katara is gasping beside him and her fingers are _tantalizingly_ hovering over the place that is protruding from his pants.

And he can't help it.

He can't help it—he loves her, and this is what he wants to do with her.

He inhales with a sharp gasp, soaking in the scent of her hair. The brief, few respites they have with one another, out of the watchful eyes of his Uncle Iroh.

She gasps once again below him. He is not quite sure what he was doing, but touching her down there, and hoping for her to gasp soon and again and again, and again.

He is not quite sure what he is doing, but he is told that this is what he _should_ be doing. That this is what intimate couples do—touch eachother down there.

She gasps and shivers once again and Zuko fears for a moment, is scared.

Is scared of what they're doing.

Because for the moment, he realizes that there is shuddering girl below him, beneath him, on the side of his bed.

And he is laying there beside her, not sure what he is doing, but knowing that he wants to.

There is something funny tingling in his throat and he is not sure what it is. It makes him want to choke, or perhaps, cough. To say something, but there is nothing to be said, especially in this situation. There is something uneasy in their respite—this new world they are unfittingly delving into and he is bringing them into—but he can't exactly qualify it. He does not know what this tingling is.

He continues moving his fingers over and under her, below and beneath her. This writhing girl beneath him. Not sure what he is doing, but _touching_ her.

She gasps once again, so he presumes he must be doing _something_ right.

This silent moment of intimacy. It is their first, but he is not sure what he is doing.

She gasps, breathing heavily and staring up at the canopy with her breaths in shock, finally. He knows she has not found relief, not an end like the ends he finds when he has moments to himself and with himself, in his room alone. He knows she had not found her end, but yet, does not know what to do.

He wonders if she was enjoying it—_had _enjoyed it—despite that she could not come to an end.

He had wanted to bring her to an end, but couldn't. He wasn't quite sure how to.

And then at some point, she had pushed his fingers off, doing nothing but simply gasping and breathing heavily and staring up into the silent ceiling of the canopy on his bed.

They both lay there, her staring up at the ceiling and him to her, breathing hard—neither having found ends to either discourse, but having _experienced_ something new.

They both lay there, breathing hard. Having experienced something new.

Her robes were a little bit rumpled, but fully on her as they had been throughout the last 15 minutes. Rumpled just a bit on top, because Zuko had touched her briefly on her chest before deciding to dig deeper and get to his purpose: below her loins. They were properly and primly clothed, unrumpled enough to fix themselves up to a finite perfection within a moment's notice of Uncle Iroh's too-soon arrival.

He had not, of course, lingered on her breasts too long for he knew that he couldn't; he had get to his purpose, what he wanted to venture into within the rare moment of extended respite he had anxiously calculated that they would have today.

So they lay there, breathing hard, fully clothed despite her being a bit rumpled.

Zuko had briefly slid his hands into her robes to touch her breasts—of his own curiosity—before quietly and silently slipping his hands down, moving them past her tunic and into her underloins quickly, to spare them the little time they had.

To try what he'd wanted to.

He wasn't sure what the outcome to his daring ventures certainly was—they were now two, breathing heavily on his bed, mindlessly staring at things: her at the canopy, and him at her heaving and shocked form on his bed beside him after she had pushed him off.

He was surprised that she hadn't tried this once before himself. She was breathing so heavily that she couldn't possibly have.

He had thought it would be a surprise to have _him_ touch her, instead of herself. Craving what he, himself, so desired from her, he thought he'd bestow the gift upon herself. Little to realize that she had not yet affectioned the sweet carnal pleasures that came with self-pleasurement.

The moment of shock came over him too, silently, for a moment.

She... she was so innocent. _Too_ innocent.

Yet, he had done this to her.

"Katara," he whispered, turned on his side, laying on his bed beside her. He didn't know what to apologize for, but he felt like he needed to apologize for _something_.

He was unsure, this hesitant 15-year-old boy. He wasn't quite sure.

"I'm sorry," he whispers achingly. Not daring to touch her, for he doesn't know how to show his sincerity or remorse in that way for they don't do that often.

Their attraction, affection for one another is well knowledgable between them, but ever so rarely had he found found the time to truly hold her. His uncle's nerve-wracking and watching eyes prevent him from being familiar with casual parts of her.

In the few moments they have, he decides the sexual frustration between them is enough to warrant their actions.

He can't touch her, or comfort her as he apologizes, for he does not know how to. Too accustomed to hiding his affection to her, from his Uncle in public, he is not used to touching her. So he does not know how to hold her face and ask for forgiveness with contrived sincerity.

The discreet touches below her clothes are just that—discreet and unaware and brief. They are semblances and aches of hidden desires within coveted glances across dinner tables coming to stark fruition. Taking advantage of the few moments that they have the small measures of time to indulge, to _feel_. But he was still unfamiliar with th normal carresses, too unaccustomed.

Today had only been the second they had indulged, and even then, he had only glanced the enigma on her chest with the briefest touch, too hurried to get onto more demanding and different matters.

So he apologizes, his voice aching, staring at her with pleading, aching golden eyes. Eyes that are worried, but unaware as to what.

"Katara.." he whispers again, pleading. Not sure for what.

"For what? It's okay Zuko," she asks him quizzically.

A heave is released from his chest. A sigh of wonder, of exasperation, of curiosity and astonishment.

But he cannot fathom or let go of that unknown reason—why was he worried? What was that awful tingling in his throat while he had been on that bed.

Something is off, but he does not know how or why.

All that he knows is that he loves her, this girl lying beside him on the bed.

And that she forgives him for something he does not quite know is wroughting guilt within him at this very moment. But it is this unplaced forgiveness that precisely fails to quench his desire, his unknown worries and fears and thoughts.

Nevertheless, they are back to their worries the next time they find themselves under the extended unsupervision of their unsuspecting (or perhaps, more keenly, suspecting) Uncle.

And it is night this time, unlike the dim early afternoon of their previous session.

Uncle Iroh had been out shopping that last time, but tonight he is out on a jolly and merry good night out on town.

So it is night, when Zuko is cautiously placing his hands over her maidenhood once again, for the second time.

He knows that they both have a longer time period now and is determined to make the most of it. He wants to bring her to his nirvana, the splendor she had allowed him experience each and every night before they had finally realized the serious extent of what they had been doing.

He starts slow, and before knows it, becomes more comfortable with her body.

No longer afraid to touch her, he buries her face into a nuzzle at her neck as he gently rubs the coveted and secreted and desired place called a clitoris.

She moans.

She had never heard it coming from her mouth before. Neither has he. And he is pleasantly surprised at the sound and nips appreciatively at the juncture between her neck and throat.

It is an intimate act, he realizes: kissing her neck. He enjoys it.

He continues the ravage on her lower-regions, aiming to bring her to the height of pleasure, moving his fingers rapidly, with speed.

It moves like oars of a paddle boat against soft, gentle ocean waves. He softly rubs and pushes and pulls against that same tight and rounded spot, and he knows that it is this motion that is pulling her overboard.

She shudders even harder this time, and her chest quivers.

Her quaking and shivering breasts, he can feel it right below him, his face right above her chest. Realizing how turned on by this subconscious side-affect of hers, he grows more aware of his a stiffening length below him. It is precisely this plague that has pushed him to his desires.

"Katara, just relax," he guides her softly, bringing his head up from her slightly nipped collarbones to speak to her. To her help her find.. find that place. That nirvana.

She is biting her lip and he is surprised at the amount of overwhelming attraction he has to her tense and frustrated face. That _striving_ expression on her face, her innocently intoxicated eyes _glazed_ over with lust. 

He has inspired this lust within her, he knows. Katara is much to innocent to discover it herself, and he has newly introduced it to her.

He is seeing his young playmate, his Katara, overwhelmed with _lust, _and the knowledge inspires a certain sort of aching tenseness within his own pants.

The worried lips between her teeth make him wonder.

Before he knows it, he is worrying his own lips between his teeth as well and frustrated by her own frustration, he moves his lips and head from the side of her throat and places it headfirst onto the pillow beside his head.

He digs his head deep into the pillow, his chest on the satin and silk sheets, moving his pelvis rythmically across the bed to relieve himself of some his own self-inspired frustration as his right hand lingers over his clandestine girl. Trying to jack herself off, he tries to jack himself off.

She is gasping beside him, beneath his fingers, and he doesn't think he can take it much longer.

Unlike the first time, he is not afraid to touch her this time—her face, her neck—and that is what makes this time all the more different for him.

He growls deep into his pillows as he rubs her off and tries to grind against his own bedsheets.

Before he knows it, his cabin room is filled with aching groans and sighs, the noises of two teenagers trying to jerk themselves off out of need.

The visage of Zuko, trying to place his hand at two places at once.

When they are done—he, not completely satisfied, but satisfied that _she_ is and having already made plans to finish later—they lie silently, only the sound of deep breaths resounding around them.

Katara's skirts are mussed this time. Her upper-robes are worse, the knot that held them together loosened with the boy's ardent rubbing and nuzzling against her chest and shaking mounds with his slim fire nation nose.

She is lying there, heaving beautifully against the moonlight, her chest exposed but her lower midriff and forearms covered with heavy blue luxurious clothes.

Zuko revels at the sight in the moonlight—the cloths he had bought her undone in front of his eyes. He enjoys this perverse pleasure, having ardently dressed her up with the severe machinations in her mind to disrobe her.

He has this unbelieving, incredibly desire to lick her right now. Right in the middle of her chest, the space below her collarbones and above the growing brown swells. Not her breasts persay, but her just the flat expanse of the upper portion of her chest.

He withholds this desire though, lest to catch and displace the remarkable Katara unaware. He couldn't give in to his more baser instincts—not in front of her.

He had already soiled her enough as it was, though he had limits and boundaries for himself. He understood that it was a selfish, primitive pleasure and desire of his to cede to the more unruly instinct that had orchestratred this night.

But he had given into that as a desire, rather than an instinct.

He would not, of course, give into _baser _needs. That, of course, was something un-princely. It was unrefined and uncontrolled and would not be of his own volition or contemplation if he did so. It would be primitive.

Baser instincts were a completely different category from _conscious decisions_.

And that was what this night was—conscious. The desire to do this to her, _share_ this with her, had been a conscious decision. Consciously hiding it from his Uncle.

And although he had felt sorry, regretful of it at first, he had slowly and quickly overcome the strange tingling feeling of remorse in his throat.

The fact that he'd unpurified perhaps, the most purest thing in the sea right now.

He felt _happy_.

_Happy_ with her, happy with what he'd done.

And this sudden realization came with another epiphany, one that struck him as he lay on the tousled and ruffled red silk sheets of his bed after Katara's leave to her own room before Iroh's return.

The epiphany, revelation, struck him with such a fierce intensity that it nearly almost made him forget about the throbbing erection below his pants.

It struck within him such anger that he found himself unwilling to reform his fists, unwilling to _not_ quell the urge to go over to Uncle's room—regardless of whether or not he was in there right now—and demand to know _why_.

This made him so happy.

So _why_ was he not allowed to love the "young Miss Katara,"—in the words of his Uncle Iroh?

Since that night he had been lectured by him to keep and stay away from her, Zuko had ceded.

He had ceded, but somehow, that had done nothing but intensify his desire for her.

Make him realize, make _her_ realize.

And actually _want_ her.

To the sneaking away of nights and several few moments throughout the day when they knew the General would be looking the other way.

To the hasty taking of her introduction to her first pleasure within the confines of 15 to 20 minutes on a docked ship, in the middle of the day, when their Uncle was out shopping.

_Why_? Why had it been hasty? Why had he needed _two_ nights to bring his Katara to the pleasure he had wanted to show her?

Why must they always have kept it hidden, secret, in waiting?

Why could he supposedly not dare to touch her at all?

Why did his Uncle Iroh dislike it so much?

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><p><strong>AN:**

**So what do you guys think? This is mean, but consider I have so many more subscribers than people who have reviewed, I'm putting up a review ultimatum. This means if you want to see a new chapter, you should most definitely consider *ahem* telling me what you think about THIS chapter. **

**Thanks! ;)  
><strong>


	3. Seraglio

**Chapter Three: Iroh's Past**

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><p>General Iroh is a man of many days.<p>

He's felt as if he's lived a thousand and one lifetimes twice over to this day.

Yet still he lives, for the sake of bringing up these two children whom he calls his own. He hopes to see the day when the Fire Nation will return to it's true glory.

When young little girls, lost, will find their ways home unpassed glorious revelries of gore.

But he is weary, this old man, of trials unforseen that forsake him.

His children are growing up—wearily, but truly so—and he cannot impress upon them his own whims and desires any longer.

He thinks back to days lost and past, when a simple and eager nine-year-old Zuko had asked him for something not his.

* * *

><p><em>There is always something to force a mind into hearing a need and thinking it's a whim. There is always the want for more, for something undeniably real. Leave it to his nephew to complicate that particular truth of life by choosing some<em>**one**_ to be that something._

_"I cannot," Iroh says to his nine-year-old nephew, "give you what you are asking for."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because, Prince Zuko, people are not to be passed from hand to hand like sacks of rice. People are people, not things." Many among the nobles and military think differently. Too many. Iroh was hoping his nephew, proud and certain though he is, was not growing up to be one of them. Yet Zuko has asked him…this._

_Zuko has asked for Katara._

_"You have plenty of servants, prince Zuko. In the future you will have thousands more, along with armies, ministers, and a nation of supplicants. Don't take from your poor, rickety uncle the only person who can brew a good cup of tea to warm these old bones into life."_

_"Anyone can make tea. You don't need her especially for _that_."_

_Iroh does not ask what Zuko needs her for. "But Katara makes the _best_ tea."_

_The boy fidgets, frowning at the steaming cup in front of him with ire. "She would still make tea whenever you wanted it, I wouldn't care. Or you could both move into the palace," he adds hopefully._

_Iroh sighs. "Court air gives me headaches." A disapproving note shades his tone, camouflaging a note of teasing. "And Katara is too young to enter the seraglio."_

_His nephew's pale skin tinges a compromising pink. "I wouldn't put her **there**. Ever."_

Iroh wonders if "_ever_" will last past sixteen.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

There an excerpt from Tempest In A Teacup by AKAVertigo. A great author whom you guys should check out. Since that story is what I've built this story and my other Zutara story (Where to Wander), I thought it might explain why Iroh is slightly against ZxK being together. A seraglio is where the harem lives.

Reviews capture my heart.

:)_  
><em>


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